Emilio knew he should leave.
He should step back, turn away, put some goddamn distance between them.
But Matteo was close.
Too close.
And Emilio—stupid, reckless, foolish Emilio—didn't move.
Matteo watched him, his gaze dangerous, filled with something dark and certain.
"You're running out of excuses," Matteo murmured.
Emilio's breath hitched. "Excuses for what?"
Matteo tilted his head, his deep black eyes locking onto Emilio's lips.
"You tell me," he said.
And then—so slow it made Emilio's pulse stutter—Matteo reached out, his fingers brushing along Emilio's jaw.
A touch so gentle, so devastating, that Emilio forgot how to breathe.
Matteo's lips curved.
"You're shaking again," he murmured.
Emilio hated that it was true.
Hated the way his body reacted to the warmth of Matteo's fingers, the way his skin burned everywhere Matteo touched.
Matteo leaned in.
Not enough to close the space.
But enough to make Emilio's throat go dry.
"Tell me to stop," Matteo whispered, his breath warm against Emilio's lips.
It was a warning.
A final chance to walk away.
Emilio clenched his fists. He needed to say it. He had to say it.
But then—Matteo tilted his head, his lips barely grazing the corner of Emilio's mouth, teasing, not quite a kiss, but enough to make Emilio's knees feel weak.
Matteo exhaled, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
"Yeah," he murmured, brushing his lips along Emilio's cheek, down to the edge of his jaw. "That's what I thought."
Emilio's breath shuddered. "You're an ass."
Matteo grinned. "And yet…"
And yet—Emilio hadn't pulled away.
Hadn't pushed him back.
Hadn't stopped him from tilting his head, from closing that last inch of space, from pressing his lips against Emilio's in a kiss that was slow and deep and absolutely ruining.
It wasn't rushed.
It wasn't desperate.
It was controlled. Teasing.
Matteo kissed like he owned him.
Like he had always known Emilio would end up in his hands.
Like he knew that after this, Emilio wouldn't be able to forget him.
And the worst part?
He was right.
When Matteo finally pulled back, his thumb brushing over Emilio's lower lip, his voice was pure sin.
"Still think you can walk away from me?"
Emilio was shaking.
His lips were swollen, his skin burned, his pulse was wrecked.
And he knew—deep down, knew—that whatever line he'd tried to keep between them?
It was gone